


Owned

by BlueTheTerrible



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:06:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11531871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueTheTerrible/pseuds/BlueTheTerrible
Summary: Sometimes nothing is enough.





	Owned

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive Criticism welcome!
> 
> My first fic in about ten years and my first SwanQueen fic ever.
> 
> Please be gentle. Or don't. I'll like it either way.

Her presence alone is a proposition – the unspoken exchange of a visceral invitation. A drink, at midnight in a study (the two of you alone in an empty house) is not a drink at all. It is a summons - a consideration, and a reiteration. The kind of moment that only solidifies as ‘real’ in your head, after its said and done, over and gone – both wasted away and etched in the databases of your memory, all at the same time.

She fucks you like she owns you. And she does. You’re both aware, though you don’t speak of it, but you wonder if any part of her belongs to you, too. You don’t dare ask that question though, because either way the answer is too dangerous, and you think you would shatter, regardless.

She has you – any time and any place and any way she wants you, and sometimes you think that you should probably impose some boundaries, but why fight for an inch when you’ve already given up a mile?

Each time, it is only after she is gone that you remember that you are you. You can’t breathe when she is there and you can’t breathe when she is gone, but for two entirely different reasons, and maybe you should just give up on ever breathing again, at all.

It’s not like you can ever stop – you tried – and she laughed and laughed and simply sat back and waited for you to crawl to her and beg her favor, which you did, because you couldn’t not. She knows it. You know it.

She lingers only once – you are sprawled, gasping, on her bed, in her sheets, in her house, covered in her scent, as she licks the taste of you off her exquisitely graceful fingers.

“What are we doing?” you manage to gasp out and she merely regards you with feline eyes, gleaming with possession, and lust, and if she were anyone else, you would think maybe a hint of apprehension.

She shrugs and stands, turning away from you, already dismissing your presence and you can’t handle it, you let out a sob that you immediately try to quench, but it’s gone so far now that her dismissal feels like a stab wound, and you throw an arm over your eyes and try to control your breathing.

She moves, soundless, and you don’t even realize she’s right next to you until she is bending over you, astride you, knees on either side of your hips – pulling your arm away from your eyes. She presses the heel of one palm into your chest, over your heart, and slides the other behind your neck, weaving her fingers into your hair, and wrenching you up into a bruising kiss, owning you thoroughly and completely. You sob again, but this time it’s a wave of relief and you think, hysterically, that this must be what cliff diving feels like.

She bites your lip so hard you can taste copper, and when she pulls away you see your blood on her lips. She is feral but controlled, and you think to yourself that you’ve never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

“Mine” she growls, gripping your hair a bit harder, and pressing down over your heart more firmly, as though she worries it might leap forth, of its own volition, into her hand. At this exact moment, you’re not completely sure it won’t, either, and you stare at her, speechless.

“Mine” she repeats, and you nod, tears streaming down your face. By claiming you, she has given of herself as well.

And, for now, it is enough.


End file.
